


Drip

by mistakeandcheese



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: America is a sugar daddy, Awkward Germany (Hetalia), Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Poor Germany (Hetalia), Possible Romance, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-World War II, Uke Germany, submissive Germany
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 21:18:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19117906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistakeandcheese/pseuds/mistakeandcheese
Summary: After World War Two, Germany was struggling so America took it upon himself to help out. One day he walks in on something he'll never be able to unsee.





	Drip

America knew that Germany was a clean freak. Crisp uniform, perfectly slicked hair, and rag in hand at the drip of a drop, kind of guy. 

So he knew it must’ve been hard on him to have the shower stop working. Not like no water no go, not working, more like crappy pipes and giant raging ocean in the basement if you even think about using anything connected to the bathroom, not working. His infrastructure was completely trashed by the war is why. Plus the poor guy was going through financial troubles, so he didn’t have the money or tools to fix it. He didn’t have the money or tools to get much else for himself either.

A lot of the European nations thought it'd be hilarious to watch him struggle, which America thought was pretty harsh. So, heroically, he put it upon himself to support the younger nation. That's why he was on his way to Germany's house now, with a bag of groceries in hand.

He knocked a little bit and then let himself in. It was easy to get in nowadays because the lock was broken too. He whistled a peppy little war tune as he strode down the hallway, and thought _“Oh good, he’s already in the kitchen”_ when he heard a splash ahead.  
When he walked in, his lips froze mid whistle. 

Germany was sitting, naked, perched on the countertop, feet in the sink, bare butt slapped over a plastic bag, and hips tipped forward to try to catch as much water as they could between them, as the nation desperately tried to wash his nether regions with the extendable faucet head.

“Holy” America said simply.

Germany jumped and his ass slapped into the sink, the faucet leaping from his grasp and spewing water everywear; “Oh Scheiße, w-was machst du hier?!” His face turned bright red as he sputtered and crossed his arms over himself, as if it would do anything to disguise the nakedness of his big shiny body. Not that he was huge anymore. The demilitarization had sorta taken a lot out of him.

“I brought you some toilet paper. And food.” America said slowly, like a stunned fish, with eyes twice as wide.

Germany started saying something to the effect of _please God no, don’t look at me,_ and _thank you_ before his lungs gave out because he was hyperventilating out of sheer embarrassment.

America tried to get him to cool off. “Woah woah, go on and breath, buddy boy. Rewind. I'm just gonna walk backwards out of this room and when I come back in, your bojangles will be outta the dishwater and you’ll be nice and snug in that towel over there. Take two. Ready, action.”  
So he walked out the kitchen, out the hall, and out the door. Then he knocked loudly and walked back in, singing “Oh what a beautiful day in Europe. Oh look, I’m in Germany’s house. How swell. Germany, are you here? I’ve come to bring you some TP and a TV dinner. I’m in your house and I’m coming towards you! I suuure hope you’re ready to see me!”

When he walked in he hung his head, because Germany was most certainly not ready to see him, because he was on the floor hands and knees, towel looped not very snug at _all_ because he was using the corner of it to try to clean up the mess on the floor.

“Okay” America sighed, giving up any notion of moving on as if none of it ever happened. “See here, Germany. I've got paper towels for you too.”

He ripped off a wad and knelt down to help. Germany took some and finished. As he wiped up the last spot, he shakily adjusted the towel back around himself and muttered a pink faced “Danke” into the floorboards.

“Sure, sure.” America said, collecting the soggy paper towels and moving to the sink. He felt Germany follow his lead so he said “Look here, Germany. These you'll wanna keep.” He wrung them out over the basin and laid them gently over the neck of the faucet to dry. Then he winked. “Bingo. Good as new. Learned that one during the Great Depression.”

“Oh yes” Germany said. “I did that after World War One.”

“World War One” America said, letting out a nostalgic whistle. “What a war.”

“What a war.” Germany repeated, sounding hollow.

“Real kicker was the second one.”

Germany just nodded.

“So you gonna put on pants or what?”

“Aherm. Right. Yes, I'll go do that, and then help you with the groceries.”

“Sounds like a plan, man.”

***

America was nearly done with the groceries by the time Germany came back downstairs. At the creek of the last step, America quickly glanced over, the lingering reflex of war still strong in his system. Germany froze at the foot of the stairs, eyes wide and body stiff. America relaxed, and gave him an encouraging smile. He could tell Germany had put as much effort as he could into layering his tattered old clothes so that the holes were less apparent, and in combing his hair so that it fell neatly over his forehead, in the absence of gel. But there was something about seeing him without his hair gel that negated all his efforts. What was it? America wondered. It’s like seeing a shaved cat, he decided.

“Looking good” America told him as Germany joined him in the kitchen.

“Thank you” Germany said, forcing a brief, unsmiling sort of smile, before lowering his gaze and grabbing the nearest bag of groceries. 

“So.” America said, pushing some cereal onto the upper shelf. “Do you do that often? In the sink?”

He could feel the warmth radiating from Germany. “When necessary” Germany said shortly.

America decided not to ask for clarification on how often ‘necessary’ was. He put his hands back in nonjudgmental disarmament. “I mean, I'm not one to go to people's houses and tell them how to use their own sinks, but isn't that unsanitary, dude?”

“I bleach and scrub the sink after each wash.” Germany said stiffly.

“What about those wet wipes I bought you?”

“The wipes aren't enough!” Germany burst out suddenly. Then his face turned pink and he lowered his eyes. “I mean, I am very grateful for them and everything else you have provided for me, America. I am still shocked by your generosity after the war. It's just difficult. I mean--I just want--I want to feel clean again.”

And then suddenly it clicked. It clicked because when he said that he buried his face in his hands and started crying like he was the dirtiest thing on the globe. 

America stood with a jar of peanut butter clutched stupidly in his hand. He froze, feeling his soul start to shiver. He put a hand on Germany's shoulder and squeezed. Then he wrapped him into a hug, and squeezed harder. He felt the broad, hard body of a seasoned warrior tremble and leak tears into the neck of his shirt. He turned his head against Germany's shoulder and toward the sink. He watched a drop of water quiver with a warped skin of light, before falling and being replaced by another. _Drip. Drip._

"Don't lose your head over something like that" he murmured finally. “None of us are clean.”


End file.
